A Russian's Heart and Soul
by WendieZ
Summary: Captured by THRUSH and facing execution, Napoleon asks his partner a very personal question.


**A Russian's Heart and Soul**

By WendieZ

_On the UNCLE series timeline, this would occur during early part of Season One_

**In a THRUSH cell, somewhere in Western Europe**

"Illya, are you afraid?"

The blond-haired Russian agent looked up from his reverie, across the tiny cell at his partner. "About what, specifically?"

Napoloeon sat up from his supine position on his cot where he had been staring at the ceiling. "Oh, I don't know. Realizing that we're about to be executed in a couple of hours, I thought you might have some considerations." He put his feet on the floor to face the other cot.

"About dying, you mean?"

"For starters."

"You're asking me if I'm afraid to die."

"Yeah, I guess I am."

"Why?"

"It doesn't look like I'm going to get another chance."

"Napoleon, this isn't exactly a productive use of time."

"You have anything better to do?"

"I'd like to come up with an idea to get us out of here."

"We've been doing that for the last two days. Talk about a productive use of time."

"Are _you_ afraid to die, Napoleon?"

"I asked you first."

"I really don't understand why we are talking about this."

"Maybe because we never talked about it."

"I don't see why we have to now."

"Okay, maybe not about that in particular, but there are other things we've never talked about. There are things about you I've always wanted to know. Isn't there anything about me you've always wondered about, but couldn't bring yourself to ask?"

Kuryakin shrugged. "You know I'm not the prying type. Your secrets are yours to share if you wish. I don't need to know everything about you."

"You know twice as much about me than I know about you."

A corner of Illya mouth turned up and he almost chuckled. "Are you jealous about that?"

"Hell, yes, I'm jealous. You're a sphinx."

"Compared to you, I'm sure I am."

"Compared to _anybody_, Illya. What are you afraid of?"

Kuryakin considered the question for a moment then looked up at his friend. "No, I am not afraid of dying. I have never been afraid of dying. And it's because death has always been inevitable. And if you _are_, you sure as hell picked the wrong profession."

"I never said I was afraid of dying. I was asking if you were."

"I would have thought the answer to be obvious. For both of us."

"It wasn't going to be my only question, Illya."

"That's what I'm afraid of. With you, there's aways another question."

"But never any answers. Afraid of admitting a weakness?"

"All right, I'm afraid of dogs, since I was a child. They were competition for food during the war and they hunted in packs."

"That's certainly understandable."

"It's an exploitable weakness."

"Okay, I've never been crazy about the water, you know, swimming."

"I didn't know that. You never show it."

"It's an exploitable weakness."

"I have other—weaknesses."

"We all do."

"When I was in the GRU, we were taught that trust was a weakness. Someone who you believed was a friend, would use that friendship against you. And yet, the Russian people feel things with a passion you Americans can't appreciate. It's a paradox of sorts. We are what we believe. For some, it is Communism. For others, it's religion."

"What is it for you?"

"The idea that people can choose to put aside their differences to work for a common good."

"The precepts of UNCLE. I wouldn't call that a weakness, my friend."

"My friend," the Russian repeated slowly. "Personal relationships are discouraged in our business. We would grieve much too often."

"Bullshit. There's no trust without relationships. Partners have to trust each other or you'd have the same thing you had in the Soviet Union."

"Napoleon, my second greatest fear is becoming unable to do what I am doing with UNCLE. My greatest fear is losing you. You are _zadushnevy_ to me, my greatest strength and my greatest weakness."

"I've never heard that word, Illya. What does _zadushnevy_ mean?"

"You already know, even if the word cannot tell you."

"God, I wish you hadn't told me that—"

"After all that brow-beating for me to tell you, and now you're telling me I shouldn't have?"

"Yeah, because before you told me, I could honestly say I would die without regrets. Now, I would regret not having the chance to look up the meaning of that word."

"A small regret isn't so terrible."

"I guess not. You have any regrets?"

"I suppose not."

"I guess we're ready then, huh?"

"I wouldn't be upset if they called it off."

"Neither would I. I'm glad we had this talk."

"I really enjoyed being brow-beaten."

"I thought you might."

They both looked up at sound of the key in the lock. "Hey! Napoloeon!, Illya! Thank God we found you! We raided the place and some THRUSH underling told us you were here in exchange for protection." The door opened to reveal four armed UNCLE agents. "You guys ready to blow this place?"

Illya stood up. "Explosives?"

Napoleon nudged his elbow. "No, I think they mean 'let's get out of here.'"

"Just as good. Oh, and, Napoleon?"

"Yes?"

"I don't think we need to have another discussion like the one we just had. Agreed?"

"Why not? I thought it was refreshing to hear you bare your soul for a change."

Illya walked past him out of the cell and did not say another word to him for the entire trip back to the local headquarters. At first, Solo did not understand his partner's reaction. Later, when they were in New York once again, he researched the word Illya had used. He understood then that there would be no need for another soul-baring discussion; for the Russian had declared him as his friend behind the soul. One couldn't get any closer than that.


End file.
